


the waiting scene (and the sunday dream)

by Fuckboy Phoebus (orphan_account)



Category: My Little Pony, My Little Pony: Equestria Girls, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Asexual Character, F/F, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, Mind Meld, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Relationship Negotiation, Telepathy, There's Basically Nothing Actually Sexy About This Fic, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23499961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Fuckboy%20Phoebus
Summary: Yes, literature on asexuality exists – you’ve read it all, could write your own meta-commentary on the current research practices and pitfalls, but that can’t possibly apply to you because you’re a coward and repressing your sexuality until it’s silent, like drenching a flower with rat poison instead of water, is something you wouldtotallydo.
Relationships: Sunset Shimmer/Twilight Sparkle (My Little Pony: Equestria Girls), Sunset Shimmer/Twilight Sparkle (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: The Bat Nurgle Blues





	the waiting scene (and the sunday dream)

**Author's Note:**

> Found this old fic from 2017 and decided to revise it a little. Twilight is bi ace, don't @ me because I'm right.
> 
> Vaguely post-canon....I dunno, let's say they're college aged here.

She still has white scratches on her knuckles and map of red keloid scarring along her back. She turned into a demon, they all told you, and your other self saved them.  Sometimes, if you focus long and hard enough, you can recapture the dreams where your other self defeated monsters, met gods, made friends -- what a refuge your dreams used to be. You try to remember Sunset’s first flashes of power as you scoot down her body and wish you’d worn jeans. The denim of both of your shorts barriers your skin from hers, but you spread your knees until the insides of your thighs burn, just to be sure. Everywhere your calves touch her bare sides sends goosebumps marching up your back.

Honestly, it’s hard to remember much of Camp Everfree, given how much of your mind had been focused solely on self-pity, on drowning in the shallow end of a kiddie pool. But that’s neither here nor there – you clutch your crystal so hard your hand shakes.

Sunset simply bunches the sheets up in her own as you magically tip the candle forward, the wax forming rows of pearls against her bare skin. Her shoulders bunch up, the way your own wings are now, but then she gives a broken thrum as the wax’s heat leeches into her.

You bite your own question back. Recalculate, say “How’s that?” instead, lest she gets annoyed that you keep insisting something’s wrong.

It’s hard not to, honestly. First, it was some void within your chest, and the sense that only something pataphysical could fill it. Then it was paranoia about becoming a monster again. Now it’s the fear of not pleasing your girlfriend in bed. You would think the narrowed scope would make this easier to bear.

Ha.

The worst thing is that you can never be sure you aren’t just so afraid of sex that you’re tricking yourself into not wanting it. Yes, literature on asexuality exists – you’ve read it all, could write your own meta-commentary on the current research practices and pitfalls, but that can’t possibly apply to you because you’re a coward and repressing your sexuality until it’s silent, like drenching a flower with rat poison instead of water, is something you would _totally_ do. You did need six different girls screaming at you to free your graduating class from a magic-drunk lunatic bent on keeping you all trapped at her dying summer camp forever, after all.

You also needed Sunset getting on one knee and asking you to prom to let yourself realize you loved her, too.

You angle your legs away from hers, and ow, ow, yoga did not prepare you for this, so you unfold your knees from underneath yourself and sigh.

“Are you okay?” Sunset asks.

“Oh – sorry! Did I –“

“No, I'm fine,” (although the red string of her necklace is still visible through the dangling edges of her ponytail) “you just seem really uncomfortable.”

“It’s just –“ a useless roll of your wrist, “you know.” You try to rub your hackles down and sigh out the lead in your stomach.

“We can stop if you’re not comfortable.”

“Well, no, it’s just that I don’t want you to miss out on anything. And, I’m not quite sure how this –“ another row of pearls, a moan muffled into her pillow “–is erotic. No offense.”

Sunset pushes loose curls of red and yellow out of her face as she props her chin upon her fists. “I’m not really sure how to explain it, other than that it’s a lot like that feeling when you first step into the shower and let the water run over your head?” Then a quick shrug. “Yeah, not sure how to explain it better than that.”

“I only take cold showers.”

Sunset throws you a quirked eyebrow over her shoulder. “You’ve never taken a hot shower?”

“Lukewarm at best.”

She rolls her eyes ere she settles back. “And yet I’m the one who’s a fugitive pony from Equestia.”

As you giggle and tip the candle again, you swear you can hear her murmur about pineapple on pizza, so you say, “It’s not as bad as people say it is.”

You yelp and try to pin her down by the shoulder as she suddenly tries to rise. The candle vomiting a waterfall onto her back, earning a sharp groan, trembling arms. “Sorry." Though in the dim lamplight, you can see the flush that’s again overtaken her face and neck. 

Sunset reaches up and brushes her fingers over your calf, that familiar tapping rhythm you recognize as asking for permission. You take her hands, and feel her mind start to slip into yours. Her powers have grown so much, and you were always there with test tubes and EKGs and papers as she hesitantly pushed thoughts of puppies and indie rock songs into your head. Bubbles at the edge of your brain at first, and then a flood that had your eyes glowing like searchlights and time pouring down the drain. 

_ You're on her couch, her jacket on top of your shoulders, and she has her headphones around her neck. Your legs and fingers are entertained; you are forcing yourself not to pull away. The only thing keeps your wings from dislocating themselves is your magic pointedly holding them down against your spine. _

_ "Remember when we took that cruise for spring break,” Sunset asks, her blue eyes wide and pleading and wise, “and you told me you wouldn't trade me for anything in any world?"  _

_ You nod. Your chest feels so tight -- or is it just so full? _

_ "Well, that's how I feel about you, too.” The fingers around yours tighten, almost as tightly as you had held hers, so long ago. Sometimes that angelic form of her still comes to you in your dreams; sometimes she’s chasing you down. “The connection we have goes so much further than sex, and I love you too much to trade one for the other. It's not even a question to me."  _

You blink out of the memory. 

“You alright?” Sunset asks, and you nod, say thank you. 

“I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too. Even though you’re making me an accessory to your crimes by tricking me into sheltering a fugitive.” 

A quirked eyebrow. “I can leave if y—”

“Oh no, I never said anything about you  _ leaving.” _

“You know,” Sunset says, “in some countries, holding me up could be considered an act of war.”

You laugh and levitate over another candle from the box on Sunset’s nightstand – specialties made to burn at lower temperatures, although its dimension of origin is something you’re unsure of. Another scarlet candle, and the lighter.

You shrug as you click the lighter to life. “I’m sure the other me will get over it.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed reading! all feedback is appreciated, and feel free to come talk to me on [ tungle.hell](https://the-resurrection-3d.tumblr.com)


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